Discovery

by E A Foley

  DISCOVERY

  A Through Dreams and Doorways Novel — Book 1

  E. A. Foley

  Contents

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Acknowledgments

  Sneak Peek — DENOUNCEMENT

  Copyright © 2018 E. A. Foley

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover by Mibl Art

  Edited by Brittney Ross

  Created with Vellum

  About the Author

  http://www.eafoley.com

  Twitter: http://twitter.com/e_a_foley

  For Roy

  Without whom my creativity may have remained stifled.

  Chapter 1

  Iris expelled an audible oof as she found herself on the floor once more and had no idea how she’d gotten there. She sat up and rubbed at her left shoulder. Her hand stopped mid-rub when she realized she was three solid feet from her small desk.

  The last thing she remembered was trying to stay awake while working on homework. She glanced at her clock. It was almost midnight. Iris went back to her desk and groaned. She still had another two hours’ worth of work to get done before morning. Why was she such a procrastinator?

  “What’s a few less hours of sleep?” she asked the empty room and opened her math book.

  A loud pounding brought Iris to full consciousness in a second. “Iris? Iris! Get up or you’ll be late again,” her mom called through her door.

  “Shit!” Iris yelled as her body protested the sudden movement. She was still at her desk.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Sorry, Mom,” Iris cringed and waited for a scolding.

  “Don’t let it happen again. I’m off to work.”

  “I won’t. Have a good day.”

  “You too, sweetie.”

  Iris slowly stood up. Everything ached as she grabbed clothes and headed down the hall. Though she longed to take a nice, hot shower to relieve her aching body, she had to be out of the house in less than twenty minutes.

  Nineteen minutes later, Iris jammed her key into the door of her dad’s Toyota 4Runner, which was older than she was. She tossed her backpack onto the passenger seat and used the steering wheel to haul her five-foot-one frame into the too-tall car. She didn’t even take time to settle herself before slamming her foot on the clutch and turning the key in the ignition. The 4Runner whined at her as she shifted into first without giving the old car any time to warm up.

  “Sorry, but I’m going to be late again and I don’t need to give Mr. Wright another reason to be pissed at me. I promise I’ll wake up earlier tomorrow,” she tried to placate the car. Fifteen minutes later—a new record—she was jogging from the north-east corner of the massive campus toward the band room on the southern edge.

  “Hi Mr. H.!” She waved to the Assistant Director as she sped past him to get her marching French horn.

  “Morning, Iris. Best hurry. Mr. Wright is still upset about the horrid performance at the football game Friday night,” he called after her as she grabbed her instrument and left at a quick walk.

  “Thanks!” She called back with another wave. Iris increased her speed as she wound through the wide, open air halls, dodged a few arriving students, and made her way to the practice field. She slowed her pace to a quick walk as she hit the blacktop of the ten outdoor basketball courts. There was no point in being exhausted when she arrived at the practice field.

  Unfortunately, everyone was already in section blocks as she jogged down the steps to the lowered field. Mr. Wright was making his traditional rounds. As she slipped, literally on the wet grass, into her usual spot at the back of the French horn section, Mr. Wright arrived.

  “Iris Faye. Front and center!”

  Shoulders slumped, she suppressed a groan on her way to the front of the sixteen-person block. She noted Mr. Wright’s sunglasses, even though there was a thick layer of fog hanging over the cold, damp field. She stifled another groan. This was not good.

  “Why is it so difficult for you to be on time?” Mr. Wright glanced at her face and quickly raised his head a few inches.

  Her eyes seared. They were changing colors and he, like so many other people Iris met, didn’t want to see. She lowered her chin a few centimeters and stared at the bottom button of his polo shirt. It was easier to pretend she was averting her eyes.

  “You are a senior,” he continued. “I expect more from you, as do the rest of the directors and marching coaches. Be a better example for your underclassmen! Now, go run laps until I call instrumental warm-ups.”

  Iris set her horn down, pocketed her mouthpiece, and left without a word. There was no point in arguing with him when he was in this kind of mood, even if he was an overreacting jerk. She’d never tell him that, of course. And not just because he was a teacher. She hated conflict. As she ran, her eyes burned and twinged with her altering emotions.

  “What an ass!” She huffed to herself. “I am a good example for the other horns. Damn it! And now my eyes are probably green because I’m so pissed off.” She finished the first lap and started on a second. “What does it matter anyway? It’s not like any of them will ask me for help. Hell, most of them won’t even make eye contact with me. I don’t belong here. Anywhere.”

  The heat now coursing through her body had less to do with the physical activity and more to do with her emotional state. She inhaled across three strides and let it out in a long, slow exhale.

  “He does have a point, though,” she continued muttering to herself. “I run late all the time. I have no idea why I can’t wake up to my first alarm like everyone else. Or why I’ve been so tired recently.” Her eyes flared at her new line of thoughts. “And now they’re probably shifting towards brown. Well, at least that’s better than green.”

  Mr. Wright blew his whistle to signal the start of instrumental warm-ups. Iris cut her fourth lap short and jogged across the middle of the field to pick up her instrument. The jerk had probably started with the French horn section because he saw her running late and wanted someone to take his bad mood out on.

  Unfortunately, her sacrifice didn’t work. Mr. Wright continually increased the tempo and yelled at the entire band throughout the remainder of practice. Iris longed to stand up to him—or anyone for that matter—and state how she really felt. The train of thought only brought back memories of elementary school and a round of name-calling she would never forget. As always, it deflated her desire to speak her mind.

  Instead, Iris kept her mouth shut, and Mr. Wright detained the entire four-hundred-pers
on band until after the bell for passing period rang. Iris found herself jogging across campus and back for the second time that morning. She hoped to make it to Mr. Downs’s chaos theory and fractals class before the bell signaled the start of second period, but she wasn’t optimistic.

  Each step increased her annoyance at attending a high school with a student body of over thirty-five hundred and the sprawling, piecemeal campus that contained them all. Not for the first time, she cursed the administration for keeping all the buildings on campus one-story and adding temporary classrooms to accommodate the growing student body rather than building up. Their stupid idea of an accommodation was increased passing period times. They weren’t long enough even on days when Mr. Wright let them out on time.

  Iris let out an audible groan as the bell for the start of second period rang. When Mr. Downs’s door was in sight, she slowed to a walk and paused to take a few deep breaths before opening it.

  A split-second’s view of the full classroom was all she received before a dry erase pen pelted at her from out of nowhere. She pulled the door shut to shield herself and listened for the clunk of any more pens. When there were none, Iris opened the door a few inches and peered in at Mr. Downs. He’d apparently gone back to teaching the class, but Iris knew better. Caution guided her movements as she cracked the door and looked to see if his hands were free of objects. They were, so she chanced opening the door and scurried to her seat toward the back of the room. She plopped down with a sigh. Everyone had to notice her enter the class, but they all did a great job of not showing it.

  Finally looking away from Mr. Downs, Iris leaned to the left and rummaged in her backpack for her math notebook, a mechanical pencil, and a click eraser. Big mistake. Mr. Downs had been waiting for this precise opportunity in order to pelt her with every single object left at the base of the board.

  “This. Is for. Being. Late. And leaving. Wet. Footprints. On my. Floor!” He punctuated each word with a new object. By the end, he’d run out of pens and moved on to erasers.

  What the hell Mr. Downs? I’ve been late before. Iris screamed internally before lowering the notebook she’d managed to hold up in defense.

  “Well?” He demanded of her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said to the desk without sounding sorry.

  She could feel her cheeks sear with indignation and knew her eyes blazed green in complete contrast to her words. Silence filled the classroom around her. She took another breath and looked up.

  Mr. Downs stared at her flatly. He was one of the few people at Pacific High who looked her in the face no matter what. It was something Iris appreciated, and the reason she’d decided to take his class on chaos theory rather than calculus with another teacher. Taking a great calming breath, Iris felt the heat in her cheeks recede and a burning in her eyes that she hoped meant they were shifting back to blue as she calmed herself down.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again and meant it.

  Mr. Downs nodded and went back to teaching. There was no need to explain any further. He knew why she was late—seeing as his classroom was so close to the practice field he could hear the band even when only a snare drum acted as a metronome to keep the beat and band in step.

  Dark-chocolate brown hair and a grinning face filled her peripheral vision. “Way to piss off Mr. Downs, freak,” Brett Moreno leaned over and whispered in her ear.

  Iris wished one of her friends were in the class with her or Brett hadn’t taken the seat next to her. Wonder if he did it out of habit since they always seemed to be in the same classes. She hunched in on herself. Ignored the glares of jealousy from other girls in the class brought about by Brett whispering something to her. She dropped her eyes to her notes. She hadn’t been called a freak in years. At least not so blatantly. It brought images of elementary school to the forefront of her thoughts. She wished she could repress them, but they refused to go away.

  Teasing. Name calling. Pulling her hair. Telling her she was a freak. She knew the kids of her past had only been trying to get a reaction out of her. To see what colors they could make her eyes become. They hadn’t really meant to be bullies. At least, she told herself they hadn’t meant it. The problem was that she was different and was able to give them the reaction they continually longed for. Instant gratification.

  They studied her, in a way, so they could determine what emotions drew forth each color her eyes had the ability to change to. It was a close call as to whether they enjoyed seeing her get angry, sad, or depressed. She assumed angry, because the sharp shade of green her eyes turned was beautiful. Emeraldesque, even. Depression only brought about the same muted brown so many other kids sported.

  Then again, having brown eyes meant she was no longer special. At least for a little while. Perhaps that was what they wanted. To make her appear normal so they could pretend she was. Brett and his best friend Jack were always at the front of the line to push her buttons. The rest of the kids from her childhood followed his example without a thought. She still didn’t know why. Perhaps it had something to do with his confidence. Or her lack of any. Nothing had changed in almost a decade.

  Later, as her feet carried her back toward the center of campus, Iris dwelled on a time in the third-grade when she’d tried to convince herself she was unloved for a whole week. She’d thought that if her eyes were the same, altered color for a long time then they would stop changing colors forever. She somehow managed to keep them brown for three days, despite every effort the kids in her class made at recess and lunch. They’d even started to lose interest in her. But her teacher became concerned and called her parents.

  Her dad spent the whole evening making a fool of himself in order to cheer her up and bring back the blue. To make sure she knew she was special. One of only a few dozen documented cases of Oculus Prismatic in the world. In the last several centuries, even. The blue was prominent the next day and Iris went back to being a freak. She never tried to fabricate her own mood again. She used to wonder if she could have managed it in middle or high school, but there were always kids from her elementary school to remind her of her previous failure.

  It wasn’t until she met Violet in seventh grade that Iris realized she didn’t have a monopoly on weird eyes. True, Violet’s eyes only fluctuated between varying shades of purple, but it meant that, finally, Iris wasn’t alone in her abnormalities. Violet thought Iris’s changing eyes were the most fascinating and beautiful thing she’d ever seen. They became fast friends and Violet introduced Iris to Rozlynd and Zarina, a few of her friends from elementary school. All four of them had remained close friends ever since.

  Chapter 2

  Iris made her way to the food cart closest to where her friends met for morning break. Rozlynd was already in line. They nodded at each other, knowing that neither wanted to discuss their morning thus far. After making their usual today-is-going-to-suck purchases of sodas and donuts, they joined the other girls in their traditional circle without a word.

  Iris envied Rozlynd. She was tall, pretty, and confident. She had no problem telling people what she thought of them, and they let her. Perhaps it was her size or athletic ability. Whatever it was, Iris wished she could emulate her friend in even the slightest amount.

  Her focus shifted from Rozlynd to the four girls standing in a broken circle one building ahead. They’d left the usual gaps for Roz and Iris. One between Zarina, who was Rozlynd’s best friend and complete opposite, and Morrigan. The other was between Aerianna and Violet.

  Morrigan had joined the group in eighth grade when she and Iris had a class together. She was reserved—a product of her Japanese heritage and upbringing—and skilled in martial arts. Both fascinated Iris, but it wasn’t until Morrigan told Jack to back off one day that they became friends. Aerianna came along a few months later when she transferred schools. She’d asked Iris if she could borrow the fantasy book she was reading when she was done. After both girls finished the book, they compared notes on all the other books they’d read and discovere
d they had a lot in common.

  Iris slipped into her usual place and started to feel better. She believed these five girls were the only people who truly understood and accepted her for who she was. No matter what mood she was in or what color her eyes were. And she was very glad they’d found each other.

  “Bad morning?” Violet asked Iris.

  “What gave it away? My eyes or my food?”

  “Bit of both.”

  “Not to mention your body language,” Aerianna added. “You look like someone yelled at you and you’re trying to get your neck to disappear so your head can hide between your shoulders.”

  “Yeah, it . . .” Iris stopped abruptly as someone came up behind her and tried to tickle her. She snapped. “God damn it, Cirrus! Confuse me for Violet one more time and so help me I will kill you.”

  “Woah! It’s not my fault you two look the same from behind!” He tried to placate her and dance away from her thrashing elbows at the same time.

  “It doesn’t matter if we look similar, you two have been dating long enough that you should be able to figure it out by now! They all did in less than a month.” Iris waved a hand to encompass the small circle of friends. “You’ve had almost three.”

  “Dude, Iris, chill out. It was a mistake,” Rozlynd said. “What’s gotten into you?”